


Restraint

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, F/F, Knifeplay, Oral Sex, Restraints, Scratching, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: “Perhaps I tire of seeing you so restrained. What sort of effort would it take to make you lose control?”Josephine’s breath caught in her throat, a sweet tangle of emotions on her lovely face. Dreamily, with the sort of care that one inebriated might use to avoid slurring their words, she said, “I think that would require a great effort, my love. ”
Relationships: Josephine Montilyet/Vivienne
Comments: 26
Kudos: 23
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hibernate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/gifts).



> Many thanks to [Hobbitdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon), whose attention to detail and character interiority sharpened my own edges. <3

“Restraint does not become you, my love,” Vivienne said dryly, leaning against the balcony with a glass of wine in her hand. She took a sip—it was cool on her lips, and sterile as starlight.

Josephine dimpled prettily, which Vivienne knew was only for show. Josephine smiled just as sweetly when raking in the pot during Wicked Grace. “Oh, for such a minor fellow? Why should he deserve any greater effort?”

‘Greater effort,’ ha. Only last week Lord Gueulard was slandering the Inquisition and ‘the Heretic of Andraste,’ but he had still accepted Josephine’s cordial invitation to a dinner party at the Inquisition’s embassy in Val Royeaux. He had a loose tongue, made looser after some bottles of excellent wine, and had soon antagonized not only those around him, but every other guest at the table. Josephine only had to bat her eyes and tremble at this _terrible_ rudeness, and every duelist, chevalier, and stripling youth was challenging Lord Gueulard on her behalf. Then she had begged them—please, blunted weapons only!

And so the offending lord had left battered and bruised, but breathing.

“Your minor works are others’ great efforts,” Vivienne said, voice warm with pride. There was always satisfaction in watching someone perform an adept social maneuver, and even more delight in seeing her beloved Josephine be the one to lay that blow. Josephine pretended such restraint, all soft ribbons and ruffles, but her political acumen was stiletto-sharp.

Vivienne knew well the dangers of such a blade, and found them enticing; there was pleasure in control, and even more pleasure in being the one who controlled a woman who held such power.

Vivienne slid a hand around Josephine’s waist, fingertips ghosting high on her hip—a suggestion, an invitation, deliberately tracing the throb of old bruises. Vivienne knew the map of Josephine’s skin, and the places where the crenellations of Vivienne’s teeth were still carved above bone.

Teasingly, Vivienne said, “Perhaps I tire of seeing you so restrained. What sort of effort would it take to make you lose control?”

Josephine’s breath caught in her throat, a sweet tangle of emotions on her lovely face. Dreamily, with the sort of care that one inebriated might use to avoid slurring their words, she said, “I think that would require a great effort, my love.”

So Vivienne led, and Josephine followed. It was all orchestrated, of course; a ballet of power and control whose steps changed nightly. Josephine had her tastes, and Vivienne had her own, and while it took little negotiation to find their common ground, it was a delectable dance nevertheless.

But tonight, Vivienne wanted to take Josephine apart. When Josephine cried out, it would be because _Vivienne_ made her do so, because _Vivienne_ could control her pleasure...and her pain.

Vivienne slid loose the pins in Josephine’s hair, setting them down with a series of parallel clicks upon the nightstand. Josephine’s hair fell loose in waves, soft crimps and tousles that Vivienne caressed, lightly scratching her nails against Josephine’s scalp as Josephine’s eyes fluttered shut.

Vivienne then undid Josephine’s sash, and the discreet buttons that kept her ruffles and pleats in place. Josephine gave a voluptuous full-body shudder as Vivienne released her from her tight-laced bodice, and it took both of their hands to help Josephine out of her voluminous skirts and petticoats. Vivienne folded the clothing over the back of a chair—they could go in the wardrobe later—as Josephine peeled herself out of her underthings. Vivienne couldn’t help smiling at her lover’s impatience, while Josephine only fluttered her lashes demurely.

Josephine was all billows and fullness as she lay back on the bed, her hair haloed in dark waves across the pillow. Her soft belly still bore the creases where her belt cinched, inviting Vivienne’s caressing hands as Vivienne slid beside her.

Vivienne pressed her still-clothed leg to the crux of Josephine’s thighs, gratified by the wet heat already there. Josephine’s scent was rich and luscious as the rest of her, and it pleased Vivienne to wear it as her own. The silver threads woven into Vivienne’s leggings doubtlessly scratched dear Josephine, but that small pain was a promise of things to come. Josephine arched into the touch, then curled as if to throw Vivienne off, but Vivienne gripped Josephine’s forearms to hold her in place. 

After a moment, Josephine's wrists crossed her above her head. Vivienne laughed as she took her cue.

“Ribbons, darling?”

“I _do_ think they become me,” Josephine smiled in response.

Chuckling, Vivienne drew a broad ribbon from its accustomed drawer. Satin could be slippery, if improperly tied, but Vivienne had deft hands and the ease of practice. Securing Josephine’s hands was the work of but moments. Soon they lay bound to the headboard with a pretty bow.

Josephine rubbed her thighs together with an anxious squirm that Vivienne recognized as anticipation. Josephine’s eyes fluttered shut, chin raised to expose her throat. Vivienne considered blindfolding her—but no. She wanted to see the desire in Josephine’s eyes, the anticipation rising in each moment.

But for now?

Vivienne kissed the hollow of Josephine’s throat, tracing her lips over the beloved hills and valleys of her flesh. The triangle of flesh between Josephine’s clavicles was a favorite place; the pulse fluttered to the surface, and Vivienne felt as though she could almost taste Josephine’s vulnerability. Vivienne loved to mark her beloved, to leave the throbbing imprints of teeth and hands. She loved the way Josephine gasped quietly as Vivienne laid tender bites across the canvas of her skin, using the hard suction of teeth and lips to paint her with bruises. Vivienne savored these moments, drawing them out like a string of pearls from a velvet box.

Josephine struggled to stay quiet, biting her lip to smother her moans. Josephine’s mouth was more suited to kisses than silence, and the unplucked kisses swole her mouth with wet sweetness. Vivienne knew how rarely Josephine trusted herself to be free—she guarded her tongue, she guarded her words, and even in bed she guarded the music of her want. The ability to push Josephine to the point of being loud gave Vivienne a selfish sort of pleasure. It was proof—audible, undeniable—of their relationship, and it delighted Vivienne to set the meter, play the tune, and elicit greater symphony.

Vivienne laid more hard pinches, the edges of her perfectly manicured nails carving crescents in Josephine’s softness. Josephine twitched, full-bodied and electric, her cries swallowed deep as she kept her mouth resolutely clamped. The tendons of Josephine’s wrist jumped stark against the softness of her bindings, as if she wished to escape, but it was too early in the game for Vivienne to use mere pain to make Josephine cry out, so Vivienne kissed her neck and shoulders. It was a familiar gentling technique, one with great success, and this time was no different. Josephine ceased struggling, easing back in the bed with a sigh, and Vivienne hummed softly. Vivienne didn’t wish her to be _too_ comfortable either.

So Vivienne administered lashings of sweet pain with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. Josephine was a delicious mouthful, the floral remnants of orange blossom soap mingling with the tang of her own natural body oils and sweat as she gasped and twitched. Vivienne enjoyed sampling her, straddling Josephine’s thighs and moving so that Vivienne’s bites covered Josephine’s breasts and belly like rose petals on velvet. Vivienne knew how well Josephine loved these marks, so she hummed a kiss in the center of every bruised rosette. The sharp bites blended with the soft kisses until they blurred like watercolors, and Josephine’s mouth trembled as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Maker, but Vivienne loved Josephine like this. She loved Josephine in many ways, at many times, but this time? Josephine was a work of _art_ , and Vivienne knew herself to be the artist. Josephine’s body bore the marks of her affection, both in pain and pleasure. A reminder of all the ways they belonged to one another.

Vivienne squeezed Josephine’s breasts—so soft, so full, so heavy in her palm—and kissed the swell of the areola, the small freckle on the left breast. Josephine’s nipples were puffy, practically begging to be touched, and Vivienne cupped her lips around one with a gentle suck. It trembled on the tip of her tongue as Josephine groaned, struggling to arch into the touch.

“Vivienne…” Josephine pleaded.

Vivienne paused, waiting for more feedback, but instead Josephine let out a vast and wandering sigh. Josephine crossed her ankles, her body dewed with sweat. She pressed her thighs together, rubbing tight as if to caress the jewel of her clit. The folds of her belly trembled as she canted her hips towards Vivienne, a subtle request for more pleasure.

Satisfaction burst hot in the pit of Vivienne’s belly, blossoming like a sip of brandy. Josephine had yet to sing the full-throated noises of Vivienne’s victory, but it was a start. That small loss of control—that small _gain_ of Vivienne’s control—was a taste of more to come.

That thought was enough to make Vivienne aware of her own heat, of the way her body pressed on Josephine’s. If she tilted her hips, bore down and rubbed just so, she could so easily use Josephine as a tool for her own pleasure—but Vivienne craved more than mere climax, she craved _control_.

So with neither distress to stop her or articulation to beg her, Vivienne leaned in to kiss one nipple. She then pinched the brown nipple between her fingers, thumb flush with the areola as she tugged, then dragged it across her teeth. It was a little like testing pearls, though infinitely softer than the gritty nacre. Josephine gasped most satisfyingly, elbows jutting towards the ceiling as she tried to curl in on herself, but Vivienne was prepared and straddled her lover’s hips, holding Josephine in place with well-placed weight rather than strength. Smiling, self-satisfied with how well she anticipated Josephine’s reaction, Vivienne leaned across Josephine’s torso. She slid her thumb down the curve of Josephine’s jaw, equal parts caress and possession, then let it rest upon the plump swell of Josephine’s lower lip.

Softly, every syllable a kiss of breath, Vivienne said, “You will scream for me before the night is over.”

Josephine gave a small cry, choked on her own want as she pressed her lips thin. Her mouth trembled beneath Vivienne’s hand, but Josephine was too well-controlled to offer anything louder. Which suited Vivienne just fine; so few things that were easy were truly satisfying.

And Josephine was _such_ a delicious morsel, struggling to stay silent as Vivienne kissed her mouth, then her neck. Vivienne was unhurried, taking her time to taste the complex alchemy of Josephine’s desire, the lingering notes of powder and perfume gone sweetly alkaline against the salt and musk of skin. Josephine’s arousal already glazed her thighs by the time Vivienne decided to run her fingers down the cleft, finding wet slickness amidst the dense curls. Josephine placed her feet flat, giving a desperate hitch of her hips in an effort to rut against Vivienne’s fingers.

Vivienne sat back on the bed, rolling to the side. Josephine eagerly spread her knees, clearly expecting more stimulation, but instead Vivienne murmured, “No, naughty girl. I’ll decide when to give you more.”

With those words, Vivienne snapped her arm down in an open-handed slap across Josephine’s mound, a suitable punishment for the presumption. Which—judging from Josephine’s shiver, and Vivienne’s knowledge of her predilections—might have been exactly what Josephine was hoping for. Vivienne dragged her nails up Josephine’s inner thigh, gripping Josephine’s knee to keep her still. She pressed hard enough to leave thin white lines against the warm brown of Josephine’s skin, an image so lovely that Vivienne leaned back to study it. She then perfected her art: rows of three, the lines laid perfectly parallel, then cross-hatched with more of those raw white stripes.

Vivienne could, of course, go directly for the hard pearl of Josephine’s clit. She was already jutting, and it would only take a finger to pull back the hood, then a pinch or a suck to torment sweet Josephine into orgasm. That would be easy—but entirely predictable.

Or, Vivienne could reach for a tool that they haven’t touched in a while.

“Tell me, my dear. How would you feel about my knife, tonight?” Vivienne kept her tone carefully bored, almost indifferent as she watched Josephine’s face.

Josephine gulped, shoulders flexing as she twitched against the ribbons. But after that initial breath, the tension eased. Considering, perhaps.

“I think your knife would be terrifying. But in a very good way.”

Ah, a cue for how Josephine wanted to play. Smiling, Vivienne pulled the knife from her bedside drawer, unsheathing it with a whisper of steel on leather. She tracked how Josephine’s pupils dilated, reflecting the blade’s glitter as Vivienne brandished it up close. Vivienne kept her grip firm, her wrist loose, turning the knife as if studying the beveled edge; all while watching for Josephine’s reactions, the way her breath turned shallow and her lips parted. 

Sharp edges made it so difficult for Josephine to retreat inside herself. Made it almost impossible, in fact, for her to find whatever calm oasis she used to avoid making noise.

Neither Josephine or Vivienne enjoyed outright cutting, but the sensual scrape of steel on skin was enough to make every nerve sing alive. It required a special hyper focused state, in which Vivienne tracked all changes—temperature, movement, breath, the smallest prickles of raised hair—and was trance-like in how far it took Vivienne outside herself, all her attention on Josephine.

Vivienne kept eye contact as she lowered the blade, slow enough to watch the dull tip dimple the skin over Josephine’s breastbone. Josephine audibly gulped, a small noise in a large silence as they watched one another. Vivienne felt her lips curl in a smile, scythe-like, and Josephine’s eyes widened as if startled—or afraid.

But if there was fear, there was also desire, writ large in the shine of Josephine’s lips, the nervous flick of her tongue across her mouth. In every trembling breath from her lungs, and the way the air pressed between them.

The handle was warm in Vivienne’s hand, smooth as a fitted glove while she tested the pressure against Josephine’s skin, feeling Josephine’s instinctive flinch as it left tender marks. Josephine was still, so still. This went beyond the stillness of her restraints and into a sort of stiffness, open-mouthed and gulping shallow half-sobs as she struggled not to flinch against Vivienne’s knife or even breathe too deeply, lest her chest rise into the blade. Vivienne wanted her to make noise, wanted her to scream, but that would require greater care. This was all build-up, anticipation to whet the appetite and weaken Josephine’s resolve. 

So Vivienne shifted, lowering her attention. She gripped Josephine’s knee, bracing as she trailed the tip of the knife up one thigh. The muscles of Josephine’s leg jumped beneath her hand, the blade dimpling the flesh as Vivienne finished the stroke. The scratches and scrapes were a dusty white, occasionally pink, but never the full red of broken skin or bleeding. Vivienne used both the flat of the knife and the point to make contact across Josephine’s skin, and laid the sharp edge as if to shave the downy hairs from Josephine’s thigh. Josephine dug her other heel into the bed, attempting to tether herself in place. With Josephine’s knees spread, vulva on display, it was easy to watch the twitch of her folds, the way she clenched and trembled. Vivienne felt her own sex throb in sympathy, but there was still work to be done. It was a matter of pride, now, and Vivienne’s pride always came before her own pleasure.

Now that Vivienne had thoroughly marked the territory of Josephine’s thigh as hers, Vivienne then changed sides, working a delicate symmetry as she dragged the knife into mirrored scrapes. Like a well-planned ensemble, Josephine’s marks looked best in layers. The knife dragged across skin already scratched, and Vivienne knew the torment must be exquisite. No individual hurt would bring Josephine to cry out, but every mark made her ever more sensitive to the next. Vivienne hummed as she brought the knife down the cross-hatched marks of her nails, and pressed just hard enough to see the flesh pillow against the cutting edge.

She never broke skin—a measure of control, both hers and Josephine’s. Josephine preferred soft words over steel, and while Vivienne preferred to cut, Vivienne saved all possible gentleness for her beloved.

All the while, Josephine gasped and shuddered, occasionally jerking her hands against the ribbons so the headboard creaked. Her breathing came in shallow gasps, her belly twitching with the effort of restraint. She was a beautiful wreck, her lashes glittering with unshed tears and her mouth more swollen than ever from her own biting.

It wasn’t until Josephine started hiccuping that Vivienne laid aside her knife and tenderly kissed Josephine on the mouth. She slipped her tongue into the warm hollow, knowing that even this gentle kiss would throb over Josephine’s bitten lips. It was exhilarating, knowing that she could bruise Josephine so lovingly. Vivienne could pour out sweet pain like oil, massage it into Josephine’s every muscle until she glistened, and Josephine would—wet, slippery, aching—choose Vivienne as masseuse every time.

Vivienne pulled back, lightly nibbling at Josephine’s mouth until Josephine finally found the strength to push back, kissing her in an exhausted press of passion.

“And how are you feeling, my dear?”

Josephine gave a hiccuping laugh, her voice wine-soft and longing as she said, “Exhausted.”

“Too exhausted for the climax?”

“Too exhausted to move, my love.”

Vivienne chuckled. “Fortunately for you, that won’t be necessary.” She slid down the bed, following her knife’s path with her own tongue and fingers. All the familiar landmarks were given fresh detail, and Vivienne felt a tight sunburst of pride in her chest, knowing these were _her_ marks, _her_ gifts. Other lovers might give ropes of pearls and chains of gold; Vivienne’s ornamentation was far more intimate.

Vivienne curved her fingers, drawing them through the slickness of Josephine’s folds before sliding into the wet heat of her. Vivienne crooked them upward, then set her mouth on the high chapel of Josephine’s sex, lips wrapped over the tight bud of her clit. She bit Josephine’s clit, only barely dampening it with the edges of her lips, and Josephine cried out—then rose in sharp, higher cries as Vivienne administered a rapid swirl of suction. Josephine soon proved the lie to her words—too exhausted to move in some ways, maybe, but not too exhausted to wrap her knees over Vivienne’s shoulders and cup Vivienne’s ears with her thighs. It took all of Vivienne’s efforts to stay braced, keeping herself from being squeezed out of position as she licked and thrust. Soon, soon—

“Oh, Vivienne! _Oh_ , oh, oh—!”

Josephine climaxed with a scream, ululating as if ripped from her chest. Spine bent, body arched as if all effort had gone to sound, the heat of her lungs and the flex of her belly ripping out in tattered waves. It was hoarse, uncouth, _uncontrolled_ , and died out in an ignominious, breathless squeak as Josephine’s throat struggled around the raw edges of her orgasm. Josephine let out another full-body shudder, jolting against the ribbons binding her to the bed. All her self-control shattered into crystalline shards, the noise of it ringing off the closed doors and windows of their bedroom.

Vivienne’s ears throbbed in the aftermath, though not nearly as much as her clit. She laughed at the thought, in unrestrained delight as she disentangled herself from Josephine’s legs. She blotted her lips and chin against the blanket, mouth still fragrant with Josephine’s juices.

Fondly, Vivienne watched Josephine’s sweat-damp body heaving with her wrists still tied overhead. Finally she said, “I stand corrected. I still say restraint does not become you, but _restraints_ …? Those suit you very well.”


End file.
